


Close Quarters

by pandaemonial



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 00:40:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12377406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandaemonial/pseuds/pandaemonial





	1. Bahryn

The howling wind, the biting cold… It all nags at Zeb’s memory as he fights off sleep. He’s not where he’s supposed to be, that much he knows. There’s a subtle warmth at his chest, and a scent he wants to bathe in. It’s familiar somehow, but different from before… Before? What was before? What’s now?

Zeb opens his eyes. A pair of soft brown ones greet him.

Kallus. The moon. The crash.

 _Kallus_. Staring at him with such…reverence, from mere inches away. 

And suddenly Zeb remembers all the little looks Kallus had given him over the course of their night together. Pained looks, but not the pain of a broken leg. They were pained looks of guilt, pained looks of gratitude that somehow worked their way past the hatred Zeb feels for the man and lodged themselves in a place deep inside him that hasn’t felt anything in a long time. 

Now a look of pained adoration.

Zeb shivers, and not from the cold.

Kallus _is_ shivering from the cold, though. They’re on their sides curled around the meteorite, keeping its warmth boxed in. It throws a gentle golden light onto the imperial’s fair, freckled skin. His lips are nearly blue.

Zeb thinks he can solve that problem very quickly. And then he realizes he wants to kiss him. Agent kriffing Kallus. The imperial asshole who has sought to destroy everything he loves and has ever loved.

Terror grips every fiber of Zeb’s being. This is slowly slipping out of his control.

Kallus has already peeled off his glove by the time Zeb notices he’s reaching for his face. Frozen fingers brush through the hair along Zeb’s jaw, trace the stripes on his cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” Kallus breathes.

So much for _slowly_ slipping out of Zeb’s control. Between those words, the hand stroking his face and those eyes shining at him brighter than the damn meteorite, Zeb finds himself paralyzed with want. That’s what scares him the most. The want. It’s something he can’t control. Something he shouldn’t have to.

“You’re delirious,” Zeb finally says back.

Kallus casts his eyes down. “Maybe,” he mutters pitifully, and starts to pull his hand away. Before he can stop himself Zeb grabs the human’s wrist, holds it, as he panics in his mind. He has to make a decision now. Yes or no.

The agent’s eyes are on him again, penitent this time. More so than before, now that he has this to be sorry about. And this is the warrior of Chava’s prophecy, who hunted them all the way into wild space?

The prophecy. The Boosahn Keeraw. Onderon. What is it about this human that keeps drawing him to Zeb’s people? To Zeb himself? Who is this fragile person emerging from the imperial shell, the one he’d seen in every pained look he’d gotten throughout the night? And most importantly, why does Zeb feel so drawn to him?

Zeb needs these answers, for some bloody reason. It’s too good an opportunity not to get them, so he puts Kallus’ hand back where it was against his cheek. It immediately resumes its ministrations.

“How’d you know my name’s Garazeb?”

Kallus gives a little nod, like he knows Zeb needs answers. With his hand still on Zeb’s face, Kallus offers them up.

“After Lasan, every Honor Guard captain was accounted for except one. I’ve known your name for a long time. When I heard there was a rebel Lasat on Lothal I had to see for myself. I asked to be stationed there. I found you, I fought you and I knew you were Garazeb Orrelios.”

“ _I’m_ the reason we got stuck with you?” Zeb asks incredulously. Then again, maybe it’s not so incredulous after all.

“It wasn’t hard to convince Governor Tarkin I could deal with whatever threat you posed. I brought my bo-rifle to that meeting to prove it. I may not have taken it as a trophy but I’ve done nothing to stop everyone else from thinking that. I used it to get to you.”

Zeb feels Kallus’ hand tremble against his cheek, and notices Kallus is no longer shivering.

“I’m not gonna pretend like you having it doesn’t piss me off. But the guardsman wouldn’t have given it to you if he didn’t think you were worthy of it somehow. And he wouldn’t have given it to you if you had anything to do with those disruptors.”

“I was armed with one. Ordered to use it against any Lasat that stood in our way.”

“Did you?” Zeb has to ask.

“I used it. I fought him with it, but I never fired it. I knocked the bo-rifle from his hands with it. I picked that up instead and…ran him through with it. Before he died, he told me to take it. He told me if I had any honor, I’d use the bo-rifle in battle instead of disruptors, or any other imperial killing machine. He said at least then I’d have to earn my kills like a real warrior, like I had with him.”

“Is that why you use it? So you can feel like a real warrior?” Zeb doesn’t exactly mean it as a taunt, and Kallus doesn’t take it as one. 

“I suppose so,” the human admits with a sad sigh. “It’s not like any other weapon. I can _feel_ it. It feels alive. Especially in a fight.”

This should surprise Zeb more than it does. A human forging that kind of connection with a Lasat bo-rifle is unheard of. But this isn’t any human. The bo-rifle finds him a worthy wielder, and a bo-rifle is never wrong.

“Especially in a fight with you,” Kallus adds, voice softer now. “And I nearly killed you with it.”

“You probably would have if it wasn’t for Ezra.”

A flash of unbearable guilt and those brown eyes are gone again. Same with the hand. Kallus curls in on himself. “I’m sorry,” he croaks pitifully. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Zeb says nothing. What can he say? He can’t say it’s okay, because it’s not okay. The apology brings Zeb none of the satisfaction he thought it would. In fact, he’s sorry Kallus has to feel sorry. The reason for this is not yet clear to Zeb, so he forges on. 

“The mercenary on Onderon, do you remember the weapon he used?”

When Kallus looks at him again, his eyes are distant. The warmth from before is replaced with the trauma of his past. But the man’s past is not a monster Zeb can protect him from.

“Was it a bo-rifle?” he specifies. He needs to know. 

Kallus frowns intently. Zeb can see that he’s gone there in his mind, back to Onderon with the Lasat who killed his unit. The longer Kallus stays there, the more Zeb wants him back here with him.

So when Kallus finally says, “I don’t know,” Zeb doesn’t push it.

“Was he the first Lasat you ever saw in person?”

“I saw the senator from Lasan and her delegation a few times, growing up on Coruscant.”

A wave of relief sweeps over Zeb. Not only has the warmth returned to Kallus’ eyes, he’s just given Zeb something to poke fun at.

“Coruscanti, eh? No wonder you’re such a dedicated imperial.”

“I’ve always been a loyal soldier,” Kallus counters, rather unconvincingly.

“Loyalty’s meant to be earned. What’s the empire done to earn yours?”

Kallus considers the question at length. After several seconds, the human shoots Zeb a look that’s almost playful. A version of the look he got whenever Kallus had the opportunity to fight him. “Are you trying to recruit me?” 

The thrill of their fight is different now. Their _fight_ is different now. Zeb strikes back in kind. “Do I look like the guy they send to recruit people?”

“Whatever you’re doing, it won’t work.”

“Whatever I’m doing, it’s working a little.”

Zeb huddles a little closer to Kallus for effect. And what an effect it has. The human’s face turns from pale white to bright pink in a matter of seconds.

The want tears through Zeb again, uncontrollable. He wants that hand on him again, but he won’t go so far as to take it. He wants it to be given. Now that they’ve come to a better understanding of each other, Zeb thinks he can get it.

“D’you really think they’re gonna come for you?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re better off coming with me if you don’t want to die on this frozen rock. We can drop you off at the nearest spaceport.”

Kallus’ eyes go wide. “You’d let me go? Just like that?”

“I would, yeah. Hera might have other ideas but I think she’ll listen to me.” There’s no way in hell Hera would listen to him, but Kallus doesn’t know that. “We all have to live with the choices we make. I can live with saving your life and sending you on your way. You have to live with whatever you choose to do.”

Zeb’s words sit with Kallus for a long time, and the Lasat gets nervous after a while. He can’t tell what Kallus is thinking. And then he gets an answer he’s not expecting.

“I can’t leave this moon with you. I’m the reason you’re here. I chased you here. I’ve been chasing you all this time. I can live with dying here.”

He can see the notion clearly scares Kallus, and that’s what gets Zeb the most. That he’s willing to give up his one chance of survival in an attempt to atone, despite his fear of wasting away here, forgotten and alone. 

Kallus’ death is something that would’ve given Zeb immense satisfaction in the very recent past. But just like the apology, it holds nothing of the sort for him.

“Say someone finds you, whether it’s the empire or smugglers passing through the system. You gonna go back to chasing me?”

“If I don’t, someone else will. Someone else will anyway, but I… I may be able to slow them down.”

Wait. What’s happening here? Did he just hear what he thinks he heard? Did Kallus just offer to help the rebellion by hindering the empire? His empire? Zeb tries not to let on how shocked he is but knows he’s doing a piss poor job of it.

“Thought you were a loyal soldier,” he stammers.

Kallus’ next words come without hesitation. “Loyalty’s meant to be earned.” 

Is this even possible? Earning the loyalty of a man who mere hours ago was touting the might of the empire? That hand reaches for him again, but it’s on his chest now, palm flat, fingers digging into his armor so hard he can feel it.

“You could’ve left me at the bottom of that cave to die,” Kallus continues, voice cracking up. “You could’ve killed me yourself. You had every right to but you didn’t.”

“I could kill you right now if that’ll take the edge off,” Zeb says, half joking, half wanting to know how Kallus will respond.

“I won’t fight back. No one would know.”

Zeb gets the feeling Kallus isn’t joking. “Not after all that work I did keeping you alive.”

“And why did you? I never understood why the mercenary let me live or why the guardsman gave me his rifle. I need to know why you saved me.”

Zeb’s still not sure how to answer that question. The answer has been evolving of late, and he can barely keep up with it.

“Every life’s worth something. Even yours,” he offers.

“What’s my life worth to you?” Kallus asks, desperate.

Zeb has to give him something. So he does, though he suspects it’s not everything. “You have a history with my people. I couldn’t let it end here. Not like this. I don’t want to be the last Lasat you ever see.”

A look of such wonder fills Kallus’ face that Zeb thinks he might know about Lira San. But a much more immediate question begs to be asked.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“You think I’m…beautiful?”

Kallus’ smile takes the breath right from Zeb’s lungs, and the word ‘beautiful’ echoes in his mind. It’s the first smile he’s seen from the man that didn’t come from the joy of battle. That place inside Zeb that had long been dormant has roared to new life thanks to soft looks, earnest confessions and the realization that he’s very very attracted to certain humans all of a sudden.

“Yes,” Kallus answers. His hand wanders back up to Zeb’s face. He strokes Zeb’s cheek and brow like he’s a precious artifact in danger of being broken. “You are the most magnificent being I’ve ever met.”

If Zeb had any trouble believing that, the feel of those nimble fingers on him would have gotten him there. The smile slowly fades from Kallus’ face.

“Maybe I knew you would be,” the human says, troubled by this revelation.

“Is that why you followed me into the pod?”

“What if it is? What if I didn’t give it a moment’s thought?”

Kallus looks at Zeb like he could somehow have the answers to these questions. As far as Zeb’s concerned there are no answers to any of this. Not yet. Just more questions. They’re figuring it out as they go. It might be messy and complicated but what Zeb feels right now is pretty damn straightforward. And he trusts himself. It’s how he’s survived for as long as he has.

He fixes Kallus with a grin of his own. “If you wanted to get me alone, you could’a just asked.”

Kallus can’t help but chuckle a little despite the pink rising to his cheeks. “Apparently chasing you across the galaxy is more my style.”

“Well, you finally managed to catch me,” Zeb says, scooting ever closer. “What’re you gonna do with me?”

Kallus stares long and hard at Zeb before he finally murmurs, “I’m going to watch you run away from me again. This time I won’t follow.”

But Zeb _wants_ Kallus to follow him. Not to chase him but to join him in the fight. Kallus’ fight will be different, Zeb understands this. He just has to make sure it leads Kallus back to him.

Zeb rolls on top of the man, careful not to hurt his leg, and pins him to the ground. Wide brown eyes look up at him like he’s the only thing in the universe that matters. It’s those eyes that started it all. Sad eyes that invited Zeb inside to shake loose the imperial foundations of Kallus’ life. Honest eyes that make Zeb believe this could be something. Something good, something important. Something rebellious.

So he kisses Kallus. The human’s lips are smaller than what Zeb’s used to, but so very needy against his own. In fact Kallus’ whole body clings tight to Zeb, arms wrapping around him like he’s been waiting for this, aching for it. He whimpers helplessly as Zeb kisses the empire right out of him.

When they pull apart they’re both panting, breath coming in puffs from the cold air around them. Kallus’ eyes are still closed and Zeb thinks for a moment he might have hurt him. When he opens them they’re filled with tears. Tears of joy, Zeb assumes, by the way he smiles with kiss-swollen lips. It’s a good look for Kallus. Zeb wants to kiss him again but restrains himself.

“Take that back to the empire with you,” he rumbles. A momentary flash of dread in Kallus’ eyes inspires a similar one in Zeb. What if this is where it stops? What if, for whatever reason, this is all he gets of this version of Kallus? 

No. It can’t be. This has come too far to end here.

“You will make it back,” Zeb insists, just as much for himself as for Kallus.

Kallus’ arms slacken from around Zeb and he’s sad for their loss. That is, until a pair of hands grasps him on either side of his face, thumbs stroking over cheekbones. “And then what?” Kallus asks, voice barely even there.

Zeb can’t tell Kallus what to do, as much as he’d like to. Whatever happens, he needs it to be Kallus’ choice. Zeb knows Kallus is strong enough to choose the way Zeb wants him to choose. It’s just a matter of whether Kallus knows it too. So he gives a little shrug and says, “That’s up to you.”

Kallus nods, and Zeb takes that as a good sign. “Will I see you again?”

The Lasat rolls back onto his side, taking Kallus with him. He gathers the human into his arms, breathes him in. There’s that scent, the one he’s been smelling since he woke up. It lulls him into a state of tranquility. “One way or another,” Zeb answers, and he truly believes that.

“Thank you, Garazeb.”

“You can call me Zeb, you know.”

“That’s what your friends call you. I feel I haven’t earned the right.”

“You have.”

“My name is Alexsandr.”

Zeb pulls the man tighter against his chest as sleep starts to pull him under. “Nice to meet you, Alexsandr.”


	2. Fulcrum Part 1

It’s been two months. Phoenix Squadron has a permanent base on Atollon now, and they haven’t heard so much as a whisper of ISB Agent Kallus. 

Zeb goes there a lot, in his mind. Back to Bahryn. Back to that little slice of reality they carved for themselves. Sometimes he wonders if it even happened, or if he dreamt the whole thing. All he has are the memories and that feeling he gets when he thinks of the man. A feeling of emptiness and want.

The phrase ‘I may be able to slow them down’ echoes in Zeb’s thoughts, and he mulls endlessly over what it means. What did it mean then, and what does it mean now? Today? What is Kallus doing at this very moment? What is he thinking? Is he thinking of Zeb? And most importantly, is he the man who revealed himself to Zeb on that moon? Or is it possible he could have reverted back to the imperial who’d chased him into the pod? Zeb has a feeling that’s not the case, but he can’t know for sure. And he hates not knowing for sure. Without some kind of clue, this limbo of uncertainty will drag on.

“Something on your mind, Captain?”

Zeb hadn’t even noticed Ahsoka standing in front of him. She, Kanan and Ezra are about to leave for Malachor.

He clears his throat. “Just make sure you all come back in one piece, eh? The Rebellion needs the Jedi.”

“That may be true, but it survives because of those willing to throw off the yoke of the empire. And some have much heavier yokes.”

Ahsoka gives him a wry smile. Zeb has no idea why but it makes his stomach feel light.

“Plant seeds of hope in the most barren of places and there you’ll find the strongest growth.”

His blood turns to ice in his veins. Most barren of places? She can’t just be uttering meaningless Jedi proverbs at him. This is Fulcrum, for kriff’s sake. Everything she says has a purpose, has meaning. There’s no one else within earshot, so her words must be for his ears only.

“What are you… What do you…” He doesn’t even know what to ask. None of it makes any sense in his head. It’s all feeling.

Ahsoka steps closer and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Even if I don’t return, Phoenix Squadron will still have its Fulcrum.”

With a final knowing smirk, she turns and makes her way onto the _Phantom_. Hera says her final goodbyes to Kanan, Ezra and Chopper and within seconds, the Phantom is gone. This all passes in front of Zeb’s eyes without him even seeing. He’s frozen to the spot, paralyzed in body and mind.

He’s about to burst from within when a voice asks, “Hey Zeb, you okay?”

Sabine is looking at him with one eyebrow quirked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Tired is all. Gonna get some rest.”

He stalks away as fast as he can without looking suspicious and heads straight for his room on the Ghost. Once inside, he lets out the lungful of breath he’d been holding for the past few minutes. He starts to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, as he replays Ahsoka’s words in his head. 

Seeds of hope…strongest growth…most barren of places… Most barren.

Bahryn.

Ahsoka wouldn’t have bothered to be cryptic if she wasn’t trying to tell him something. Something she couldn’t come right out and say. Something secret that she believes Zeb has the means to decipher.

As far as Zeb can tell, there’s only one thing this equation adds up to. And it’s the clue he’s been waiting for. The answer to the most important question. 

The Lasat chuckles loudly and collapses onto his bunk. These have been two of the longest months of his life, and all this time Kallus has been busy. Busy contacting rebel intelligence from inside the empire. Busy getting himself through all the right channels until he reached someone who would listen, someone he could show his cards to.

Ahsoka knows about Bahryn because Kallus told her. He told her enough to earn her trust, and that means he told her everything. Everything as he saw it and felt it. If it was anything like what Zeb experienced, it was a convincing story.

Ahsoka isn’t the only Fulcrum now. Zeb wonders how many others there have been, and if there has ever been one like Kallus. One who lived his whole life in service to the empire until the night he ceased to do so. One who’s under cover as the man he used to be, the man he’s trying to move away from.

Kallus is Fulcrum, and there’s nothing Zeb can do to help him.

But that’s a whole new can of worms Zeb is too overwhelmed to open at the moment, so he lies down. Goes right to sleep and dreams of glowing meteorites and the cold.


	3. Fulcrum Part 2

Three more months go by and they’re by far the longest months of Zeb’s life. Ahsoka didn’t come back from Malachor. No one knows if she’s alive or dead. But Fulcrums don’t die that easily.

Zeb still thinks of Kallus and Bahryn every day. It’s all he has of the man. And as far as Zeb knows, Fulcrum has been radio silent.

As far as he knows.

Commander Sato approaches Zeb while he’s cleaning his bo-rifle.

“Captain, I need your help with something,” the austere man says simply.

Zeb stands at attention. “What can I do, Commander?”

“Follow me.”

Sato leads him to a small comms console suspiciously out of the way of all other rebel activity. Despite this, Sato looks around to make sure they’re alone.

“At this time only I am authorized to receive Fulcrum’s intel, but you have been granted temporary clearance by rebel high command for this most recent message.”

Zeb’s heart leaps into his throat.

“You should know this Fulcrum is not Ahsoka. This Fulcrum is…different. But the last part of the message is locked. I believe you have the key.”

“What makes you say that?” Zeb stammers.

Sato presses a button on the console and the white mark of Fulcrum beams to life in front of him. _“Spectre Four, don’t climb the walls.”_

It’s his voice. Distorted, but it’s there. Zeb can practically hear Kallus saying it from atop his back, the sound of it bouncing off ice walls.

“Go up the pillars,” he blurts out immediately.

_“Hello, Spectre Four. This is Fulcrum.”_

Zeb grasps the console, hard, to keep himself from shaking.

_“I don’t have much time but I need to tell you you were right, about everything. About me. I didn’t ask questions because I feared the answers. I feared them because I knew what they were. The answer is always the same. Your planet. I said it wasn’t supposed to be a massacre. Of course it was. It’s what we do. I smelled burning flesh and still I was able to blind myself to the truth. The truth of what we are, what I am…”_

Zeb can see Kallus in his mind’s eye, huddled in a dark corner, pouring his heart out into a communicator of some sort. He probably has that agonized look on his face, the one he got when he was being most honest with Zeb, with himself. The only difference now is Zeb can’t reach out and touch him.

_“I don’t want to be that person anymore. But I can’t just walk away like nothing happened. I hurt people. I have to pay. This is the only way I know how. This is where I belong, for now. I…”_

Kallus gets choked up here, and he has to take a deep breath. Even with the distortion, Zeb can hear the torment in his voice. He grips the metal of the console tighter.

_“I wanted to go with you but I couldn’t let you defend me to your family. Not when I’d done nothing to earn it. That’s not your responsibility. It’s mine and I’m trying to earn it. I’m trying to do what’s right. It’s because of you I have the strength to do any of this. If we see each other again I hope I’m someone you can find honorable. Fulcrum out.”_

The white symbol disappears. Zeb doesn’t move, silently begging it to come back. There’s nothing but the quiet, and the furious pounding of his heart. He doesn’t hear Sato clear his throat.

“I assume you know this Fulcrum’s identity,” the commander states.

Zeb releases the console and takes a wobbly step backwards. “Y-Yeah.”

“That makes one of us. Don’t share that information with anyone, not even me, although I am rather curious…” Sato pokes curiously at the console where it’s been dented from Zeb’s grasp.

“Can I send a message back?” Zeb asks.

“Ah. Unfortunately Fulcrum’s communications are only one way. That may change, but right now high command has decided it’s safest for everyone.”

Zeb knows it was a long shot but he’s still disappointed, not that he’d have any idea how to form a coherent response in his state. He just wants Kallus to know that he heard.

Sato presses a few buttons on the console and out pops a data chip. He hands the chip to Zeb. “This was meant for you.”

Zeb takes it gingerly. “Th-Thank you,” he manages to get out.

“It seems you’re the one we should be thanking, Captain.” Sato gives him a nod and disappears.

Zeb marvels at the tiny chip in his hand. It’s all he has of Kallus since he left him on Bahryn. After a quick look around, Zeb slots the chip back into the console.

The white Fulcrum symbol reappears.

_“Spectre Four, don’t climb the walls.”_

“Go up the pillars,” Zeb recites like a mantra.

The transmission plays all the way through again. Zeb hangs on every word, just to make sure he heard them right the first time.

He did.

Zeb takes the chip from the console and hides it in a compartment on his belt, safe. Then he runs.

He runs by Ezra who looks at him strangely. “What’s goin’ on, big guy?” 

“Just need a run,” Zeb tells him. It’s not a lie.

The young Jedi shrugs. “Have fun!”

As Zeb leaves the perimeter of the base, he grabs one of the sensor markers to ward off any spiders unfortunate enough to cross his path.

Soon he’s in a full-blown sprint through the Coral Mesa. He doesn’t really know how long he runs, he just goes until he can’t anymore. Then he drops to his knees and digs his claws into the dirt, holding on for dear life against the tempest roiling inside him. It roils right into a laugh that bubbles up from deep in his chest, even though he’s still gasping for breath.

“I knew it! I kriffing knew you had it in you!” he bellows. It’s so loud the earth beneath him seems to rumble its agreement. 

Exhausted, Zeb flops onto the ground. He rolls onto his back and stares up at the purple sky. Somewhere out there, the Alexsandr Kallus he met on Bahryn is risking his life for the rebellion.

Zeb knew it meant something, him and Kallus. It wasn’t just the cold or fear of death. It was real.

“I’m glad it meant as much to you as it did to me,” he says into the universe. “But you better not get yourself killed. ‘Cause if you die after all this, I’m gonna…”

Well, he doesn’t know what he’d do. Go on living with a hole in his chest, he supposes. An emptiness never filled, a want never sated.

Zeb recalls vividly the feel of Kallus’ body flush against his own, solid and strong but so honest in its need. That is something he’d very much like to explore deeper.

“Just make sure you come back to me, all right? I’ll come get you if I have to.”

With that, Zeb curls up on his side. It’s the same position he was in on Bahryn, when Kallus opened up to him. Opened up _for_ him. He’s never seen someone confront themselves like that before. Zeb’s proud to have inspired it.

“I want to know…what we could be together,” he murmurs.

Zeb wonders, if by some miracle Kallus does make it out, how he’ll explain it to everyone. To Hera, Kanan, Ezra, Sabine… What will they say when they find out Kallus was on the moon with him, that Kallus is Fulcrum? What will they think of him and these feelings he has?

He’ll have to tell them something. He’s not ready to tell them everything. Not even close.

He’s not even ready to get back on his feet and go back to base. Once he does he’ll have to face the reality that everyone still thinks Kallus is a loyal imperial. Zeb wants to tell them that’s not true anymore. But what would he say? There’s a reason he hasn’t breathed a word about his experience on Bahryn. He couldn’t possibly do it justice enough to convince them of anything, least of all that Kallus has changed.

Zeb decides he won’t tell anyone until he absolutely has to.


	4. Fulcrum Part 3

It’s another four months before Fulcrum’s identity is revealed. Kallus helped Kanan and Ezra escape from the TIE fighter factory on Lothal. 

Hera’s not taking the news too well.

“We’ll use caution with our new _friend_ until we’re sure we know what game he’s playing.”

As soon as the hologram of Kanan, Ezra and Ryder cuts out, Zeb wanders off, hoping to avoid what’s sure to be a confrontation. But Hera follows him. Of course she does. He can feel her locked onto him, a pilot with a target in her sights.

“Something you want to fill me in on?” she asks bluntly, running to get in front of him. 

He maneuvers around her. “Not really.” 

“Oh?” she presses, keeping pace with him. “Not like how you ‘accidentally recruited’ one of our most ruthless enemies while you were stranded on a Geonosian moon with him, and now he’s Fulcrum?”

Zeb stops. It’s clear he’s not going to be able to keep this to himself anymore. But how does he tell her? Where does he start? It’s hard enough without the fires of hell raging at him through her eyes.

“Zeb. You have to give me something. This is Kallus we’re talking about. He’s been hunting us for months. He helped wipe out your people.”

“D’you think I don’t know that?” Zeb snaps at her. “D’you think I forget about that every time I…”

Zeb cuts himself off. That’s not something he wants to get into with her. He starts to pace but he can feel her peering at him, peering through him, really.

“What happened on that moon?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

Zeb almost chuckles at that. They could have all the time in the world and it wouldn’t matter.

“Come on, talk to me,” Hera begs, her eyes softening. “Why didn’t you tell us he was with you?”

“I don’t have to explain it to you, Hera. I don’t have to defend it. It’s my business. It’s my… It’s _mine_ , okay?”

At the narrowing of her eyes, Zeb thinks she’s starting to catch on. 

“I’m sorry for pushing you,” she says. “I just want to understand.”

So does Zeb. Despite all these months of mulling it over, he hasn’t gotten that far. There’s only one thing he truly understands.

“I left a piece of myself on that moon, knowing I might never get it back. But it’s out there, fighting for us. I want it back.”

Hera digests his words, studies him closely. “He’s doing this for you,” she surmises.

“He’s doing what’s right,” Zeb corrects. “And not ‘cause I told him to. This is his choice. He’ll do it for as long as he can, probably until it gets him killed.”

Hera gives a little nod in acknowledgement, and Zeb about sighs with relief. She’s definitely caught on now. That was almost easier than he thought it’d be, but then again, Hera’s the smartest person he knows. Smartest in head and heart.

She’s still staring at him, but not so intensely now. Just curious. “How long have you known?”

So many long months. “A while.”

“And all that time you felt you couldn’t confide in us,” she says, her voice heavy with guilt.

“That’s not it,” Zeb tells her firmly. He can’t have her thinking she’s done something wrong here. “I wasn’t ready. Still not ready. It’s not something I can put words to. It’s just something I…”

“Something you feel.”

Zeb nods. All this time he’s been trying so hard to make sense of it. But that’s just it. There is no sense to it. Never has been. It’s all feeling. Hera understands this, and now he does too.

“When you are ready to talk about it, _if_ you are…I’m here,” the Twi’lek tells him, touching his arm. “We’ll always support you, no matter what. And when the time comes, we’ll be there to help get him out.”

She gives his arm a squeeze then walks away, leaving Zeb to brood. And brood he does, though not as gloomily as before.

He’s relieved, really. Hera’s the best person to have on his side. She doesn’t need to know all the details, not like Ahsoka did. Zeb’s not trying to prove his loyalty or earn anyone’s trust. He just wants to get through this.

He just wants to get to the part when he can bust Kallus out of the empire.

Zeb lets himself imagine it, the whole _Ghost_ crew on a rescue mission. They sneak onto a star destroyer, find where Kallus is being held. The guy’s already fighting like hell but he needs some help. Zeb barrels in and knocks out half a dozen bucket heads. He pulls Kallus against him, looks deep into his eyes and growls, “You’re coming with me.”

“ _Garazeb_ ,” Kallus would say to the tune of _my hero_ , body melting against Zeb like it had on the moon.

Depending on time and how badly Kallus is hurt, Zeb might just kiss him right then and there. And if a few imperials happen to see, so what? They’ll know Kallus is his.

_His._

Zeb shakes himself out of it. He’s too old for fantasies. He has to stay sharp. He has to be ready.

His heart depends on it.


	5. Whatever We Can

Hera’s had a few hours to process everything by the time Kanan, Ezra and Chopper get back from Lothal. She paces back and forth in her quarters as Kanan climbs into their bunk.

He sits cross-legged, like he’s about to meditate. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

“We’ll have to get him out before he’s caught,” Hera says.

“Had a feeling you’d say that,” Kanan grumbles.

“You were with him. How did he seem?”

“He seemed…sad.”

Kanan watches her, unseeing, as she flits from one side of the room to the other. “What about Zeb?” he asks.

“What about him?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t get any details out of him.”

Hera stops and looks at him. “Did you want details?”

“Enough to figure out who that person was who just saved us. That was not the Kallus we know.”

Hera starts to pace again. “I’ve been noticing lately…Zeb gets kind of lost in his own head from time to time. Not distracted, just pensive. He’s been fighting for so long. I thought, maybe he’s sick of it. Maybe he wants to be with his people on Lira San.”

“That doesn’t sound like Zeb.”

“I know. I never had to worry about him like Sabine and Ezra. They were children. They still are. I should’ve asked him what was wrong. I had no idea it was…”

“Hey,” Kanan says softly, catching her hand. “He didn’t tell us he was a captain in the honor guard. He wasn’t going to tell us about this, not until he had to.”

“He hasn’t told me anything so far,” she sighs and plops down next to him. “Not really. So to answer your question, no. I didn’t get any details.”

“I ask because Ezra and I have a bet,” Kanan says with only mild guilt.

Hera cocks an eyebrow at him. “What kind of bet?”

“The kind that goes like, ‘Hey Kanan, how much you wanna bet Zeb kissed Kallus on that moon and not the other way around?’”

She lets out a laugh. “And you took that bet?”

“Yeah I took it.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

This time he cocks an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t get any details.”

“I didn’t. I just have a feeling.”

“Seems to be a lot of those going around.”

“We need to do whatever we can to make sure Zeb has a chance to pursue his.” 

Kanan sighs then gives a nod. “Guess that means we should start brainstorming extraction plans…and that our little family’s going to get a little bigger.”

Hera smirks and leans into him. “Our little family’s been getting a little bigger for some time now.”

“We’re magnets for the lost and broken,” Kanan says. He wraps his arm around her and lies down, bringing her with him. “We give them a safe space to find themselves, put themselves back together.”

Hera rests her head on his shoulder, smiles into his skin. “It’s what we do best.”

His lips find her forehead. “Yeah, it is.”

A few seconds later, she pops her head up. “I think I have an idea for an extraction.”


	6. Freedom, of a Sort

The moment he bursts through the cockpit doors of the _Ghost_ , Kallus can smell him. The familiarity, the _warmth_ of the scent seeps into his being before he can even pinpoint the purple head among the others. A flash of a yellow-green eye in his direction and they’re jumping into hyperspace.

He’s free. He’s _free_. And Zeb is here, gloriously alive. It all hits Kallus just as Zeb jumps from his chair and rounds on him. General Dodonna conveniently scoots out of the way.

“Kallus.”

Big hands, _warm_ hands grasp his shoulders and all at once, everything that makes Zeb Zeb is here before him, utterly surrounding him. The rumble of his voice, the smell and heat of his body, his bare shoulders…a part of Zeb Kallus hasn’t seen before. A wonderful part.

Then there’s that face, that striking visage with its sharp lines and angles expressing so fiercely what’s in the Lasat’s heart. Zeb studies him with such concern that the gaze draws Kallus in like a tractor beam. No one’s ever looked at him like this. He can’t possibly look away.

“Garazeb…” he chokes out through the burning in his chest.

“Those imps sure did a number on you.” 

_Those_ imps. The fact that Zeb no longer considers him an imperial means everything to Kallus…in the best and worst way. He’s been an imperial all his adult life. It’s a skin he’ll never be able to fully shed. His hands will never be clean of Lasat blood.

And yet, here’s a Lasat. Four-fingered hands still grip his shoulders, holding him fast to this beautiful new reality. He isn’t prepared for this. Until now this had been a fantasy, one he rarely let himself indulge in. A fantasy he didn’t deserve to enjoy. The reality he deserves even less.

“There’s a lot I need to say to you,” Kallus mutters, because he has no idea where to start.

“We’ve got time for that,” Zeb says softly, a smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.

Zeb’s right. It’s not just the truth of his words, but the certainty with which he says them that draws a heavy sigh from Kallus’ stiff body, along with the last of his adrenaline. As the tension melts away, the pain sets in. Kallus grunts. 

Zeb pulls his hands away from the man’s shoulders. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.” Kallus cradles his ribs as inconspicuously as he can manage and shifts onto his good leg. Dodonna and Rex are now looking in his direction. He remembers they’re not alone on this ship like they were on the moon. These are Zeb’s friends, his family. Good people who’ve never had reason to hurt him. Kallus doesn’t belong in that category. He never will. The knowledge of that hurts far worse than his cracked ribs or aching leg. “I’ll go see the medical droid.”

Kallus ducks out of the cockpit before he can make eye contact with Hera, whose gaze he fears the most. Zeb almost goes to follow him but the doors slap closed before he can. 

Rex distracts Dodonna with a tactics question as the Lasat shuffles back to his seat in a daze. 

Hera shoots Kanan a worried look, and he acknowledges it with a tilt of his head.

“I think they tortured him,” Zeb mutters.

“He’s safe now,” Hera assures him.

“Yeah. Hope you’re right.”

The helplessness in Zeb’s voice breaks Hera’s heart. “We’ll do whatever we can to keep it that way.”

“You have our word,” says Kanan.

Zeb nods, gives them half a smile. Hera breathes a tiny sigh of relief.

_“Gauntlet to Ghost, we’re preparing to dock.”_ Sabine’s voice rings out from the console.

“Copy that, Spectre-5,” Hera says with delight. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

Within moments all the Spectres are back aboard the _Ghost_. Sabine and Ezra run right by him but Chopper notices him there, huddled in a corner with his head down.

< _Kallus!_ >

Kallus nearly jumps when the droid blares at him. “Hello Chopper.”

< _I see you got yourself out of the empire without dying._ >

“Well, yes—”

< _Good! With you around maybe Zeb won’t be such a jerk._ >

“I…”

< _Bye!_ >

Chopper zooms off after his compatriots, circuits cackling.

“Bloody C1,” Kallus grumbles to himself. _With you around_ … Heat rises to his face as he wonders how much the _Ghost_ crew, droid included, actually knows about what happened on the moon. Did Zeb tell them right away or only after Kallus revealed himself as Fulcrum? Did he tell them at all?

As far as Kallus knows, there’s only one other person aware of the details of that night. And that’s because he told her himself. Spilled his guts outright to a Togruta woman whose face he’d seen before but just couldn’t place.

It was the best thing he ever did for himself.


	7. Command

When the _Ghost_ touches down, the cargo bay door opens to land awash with green. It’s a jungle planet, perfect for clandestine rebel activities. Kallus marvels at the Great Temple towering before him. What is his life worth compared to something so big, so old?

“Welcome to Yavin four,” says Hera, who exits her ship alongside the survivors. “This is Massassi Base, headquarters of the Rebel Alliance. You’ll each report to command for debrief. Kallus, with me.”

He wasn’t sure she’d seen him among the throng but she walks right by him, headed straight for the temple. After a moment’s hesitation, Kallus follows. He doesn’t know whether to walk beside or behind her, so he hovers somewhere in between. She’s the one member of the _Ghost_ crew he hasn’t yet encountered as Fulcrum. This is her family. This is _her_ rebel cell he’s burst into after so many months of trying to destroy it. His fate as a rebel rests entirely in her hands.

“Captain Syndulla, I—”

“Hera.”

“Hera… I wanted to—”

“You don’t have to say anything. Well, eventually you’re going to tell me about Bahryn, but not today.”

Kallus’ heart leaps into his throat at the mention of the moon. Whatever Hera knows about it, it’s clear she knows it was a turning point. And maybe not just for him.

“Right now you need to tell me who in rebel command knows your identity.”

“Aside from the one who made me Fulcrum and an R2 unit, I’m not sure. She was the only one I met face to face.”

The Twi’lek stops in her tracks, finally looks Kallus in the eye. At first it floors him, being hit with those unyielding orbs. But then he notices the gears clicking into place for her as she reconciles the timeline in her battle-sharpened mind. Kallus knows her question before she asks it.

“She?”

He gets the feeling she already knows the answer. “The original Fulcrum. Ahsoka Tano.”

Hera just nods. “You can tell me about that later too.” Kallus can’t tell whether he’s dreading or looking forward to this future conversation. She starts walking again before he can decide. “I’m sad to say I don’t think we’ll be seeing Ahsoka any time soon.”

“Ah. She said that might be the case.”

“I’m glad we still had Fulcrum watching our back.”

He isn’t sure he hears that right. At least, not until she gives him a nod over her shoulder. A lump suddenly forms in his throat and he chokes on it. He’s spent his entire career seeking the praise of his superiors – Yularen, Tarkin, even the Emperor himself. And more often than not he got it. But this… It’s not praise. It’s not even a thank you. And yet, he’s never felt more vindicated in his life.

Unable to formulate a single word, he gives her a solemn nod in return as they enter the temple.

Up on the Ghost, Zeb watches the two of them disappear into the ancient structure. He doesn’t realize he’s the last one on the ship until the med droid shuffles past him.

“Oi. The one dressed like an imperial. Did you treat him?”

The droid turns to him, sifts through its memory bank. “If I recall correctly, that one had three broken ribs but refused any medical treatment. There was no internal bleeding so I moved on to my other less imperial patients.”

It’s meant to be a barb, Zeb knows that full well. He lets it slide though, because what’s the point in punching a med droid? There will be plenty of opportunities to set folks straight on the matter of Kallus’ imperialness. 

Meanwhile Kallus finds himself being led through a hangar full of X-wings whose pilots and engineers go stiff when they see him. He wants nothing more than to incinerate his imperial uniform, perhaps while he’s still in it.

Soon enough Hera leads him through a set of doors into a command center. It bustles with activity, but when the two stately people at the helm see them enter, the rest make themselves scarce.

“This is Fulcrum, also known as Kallus, formerly an agent of the Imperial Security Bureau. These are Senators Mon Mothma of Chandrila and Bail Organa of Alderaan, leaders of the Alliance to Restore the Republic.”

Kallus knows exactly who Hera has presented him to, and he definitely knows that blue and silver astromech whistling from Organa’s side.

“And this is…” Hera starts.

“R2-D2,” Kallus finishes.

< _Hello again!_ >

“Welcome to the Rebellion,” Mothma says.

“I’m grateful to be here.” It’s the only thing Kallus can think of to say, probably because it’s the truth.

“Ahsoka was right about you,” Organa tells him. “But I knew she would be. She’s right about most things.”

Kallus knows better than to ask what happened to her. Just like he knows better than to ask how Kanan was blinded. He thinks they probably have something to do with each other, and whatever befell Vader on Malachor.

“I understand your last transmission was to be a warning of Thrawn’s intentions to ambush our attack on Lothal,” says Organa.

“He had intel that Phoenix Squadron was amassing for an attack on Lothal’s TIE fighter factories. He knew General Dodonna was to reinforce you and Commander Sato,” Kallus explains, looking to Hera. “He just didn’t know where. He had the trajectory of Dodonna’s ships and my transmission crossed paths with that trajectory at Atollon. I led him right to you,” he tells her.

“It was only a matter of time before he found us,” she says. “Your warning gave us a chance to scramble our forces.”

“Your warning was cut short by Thrawn himself, yes?” Mothma asks.

Kallus nods. “He followed me to Bridger’s tower and corrupted the signal. We fought but he overpowered me. He and two deathtroopers held me there, interrogated me.”

Organa scratches his chin. “What interrogation techniques were used on you?”

“Standard imperial techniques.”

“Including physical torture?” the senator presses.

“Some.”

“What kind of information was Thrawn after?”

“He knew I had no useful intel on rebel activity, so he went a more…personal route,” Kallus says, voice wavering. “He wanted to know why I betrayed the empire. I told him nothing.”

Organa nods. “Very few know the answer to that question and most of us are in this room. That has served us well so far.”

Kallus feels the heat rise to his face again. It was barely a cohesive story the first time he told it, what with the crying and the choking on his own words, so he’s eternally grateful to his predecessor that he doesn’t have to tell it again. Until he has to tell Hera, of course, and by then hopefully he’ll have more of a handle on the maelstrom of emotion inside him.

“But you’re not under cover anymore,” Mothma says. “You must choose your own path forward.”

Her words throw Kallus. He has a choice? That can’t be right. “I’m an imperial war criminal,” he reminds them.

“Indeed,” Organa agrees. “What do you think your sentence should be?”

“Nothing short of death or life imprisonment.”

Organa lifts an eyebrow. “We still have a war to win. Perhaps we can revisit our options once we’ve done that, but until then…what do you think your sentence should be?”

Hearing the question again puts it into perspective for Kallus. He understands now. This is the choice before him.

“To use every dirty trick the empire taught me to bolster your intelligence networks and undermine those I used to operate in. To never escape who I was or what I did,” he mutters, mostly to himself. A few moments pass before he finds his voice again. When he does, it’s resolute. “I’ve made a career out of deception and manipulation. Putting it to use for the rebellion is the only path forward for me.”

Kallus’ answer seems to satisfy Organa. He exchanges a nod with Mothma then turns to Hera. “Captain Syndulla. Your team has the most experience working both with and against Kallus in the field. How does all this sit with you?”

Hera looks at Kallus. “If that’s the path you choose to walk, Phoenix Squadron will be right alongside you. Even though your cover’s blown, we still need Fulcrum. We need you, however you’re able to reconcile your past.”

Kallus had only been partially right before. His fate as a rebel rests in Hera’s hands, yes, but not entirely. Where before he was a cog in a massive machine, here he is an individual. Here, he will be judged by the integrity of his choices, the sincerity of his actions. Here, he controls his own fate in a way he never could’ve fathomed before Bahryn. Before Zeb. 

“Thank you…for the opportunity to do the honorable thing,” he chokes out, looking each of them in the eye.

The senators dismiss Hera, but keep Kallus for another round of questions – this one about the construction modules over Geonosis. And Saw Gerrera.


	8. Close Quarters

When Kallus is finally dismissed from debrief (the first of many, he’s been told), he’s worse off than when he went in. His bad leg throbs but he does his best to keep up with the armed escort leading him out of the command center. And he pretends not to notice the constant side eye he receives from both his rebel escort and anyone in the general vicinity.

Once they’re in the hangar, a familiar scent triggers a familiar burning in his chest. He forgets all about the eyes on him.

“That droid did a rotten job patching you up.”

Any other voice would’ve startled Kallus. But this one, gruff and booming as it is, wraps around him like the softest velvet. He turns to find Zeb leaning against a wall, big arms crossed, eyes fixed on him.

“I’m fine,” Kallus announces.

“Sure you are,” Zeb scoffs, pushing off from the wall. He approaches the rebel escort. “Where are you taking him?”

The rebel balks, quite at a loss caught between a former imperial and a Lasat. “I have orders to take this turncoat to his designated quarters,” he stammers.

“Your orders are gonna have to wait. He’s coming with me.”

The rebel squirms. “He’s to be accompanied by an armed escort at all times.”

“And who’s gonna do a better job of that than me, huh?” Zeb growls, straightening up to his full height. 

The rebel takes a step back but Kallus only sees this in his periphery. He really only sees one thing at the moment and that’s Zeb brandishing his physique like the most finely tuned weapon in the galaxy. And Karabast, is it. So much muscle standing upright on legs built for the most adept predators… 

When the Lasat looks at him, a jolt of electricity tears through Kallus’ body. 

“Come on,” Zeb beckons. 

The Lasat gives neither human a chance to object, just walks off. Despite their fatigue, Kallus’ legs start moving almost immediately. 

A certain clone captain who just happened to see this whole exchange transpire plops a hand on the befuddled rebel escort’s shoulder. “Those two have some stuff to work out. Trust me, you don’t want to get caught in the middle.”

“You… You’re…”

“Captain Rex, 501st clone battalion. As you were, soldier.”

Slack-jawed, the rebel wanders off rather aimlessly and Rex just chuckles to himself. 

“An ISB agent, a Lasat and a clone all in a matter of seconds. Poor kid.”

Meanwhile Kallus follows Zeb back through the hangar and out of the temple. He’d follow the Lasat anywhere, least of all through wild space. Right now he’s content to trail in his wake, admiring the deep, rhythmic gait with which he carries himself, dexterous tarsal digits so elegantly splayed as they support his weight. 

Before Kallus knows it, they’re all the way back up on the _Ghost_. The ship is quiet, empty, so Kallus takes the opportunity to get a good look at it. He’s not surprised to find it looks like a home. Feels like one too, well worn and well loved. His memory is kind enough to conjure up every last instance he tried to destroy it. 

“Let’s see the damage.”

Kallus isn’t sure what Zeb means until he spots the med kit out and open and Zeb’s gauntlets on the floor. His arms are bare from shoulders to claws, and Kallus can’t keep his eyes off them. They’re doubly striking, tight muscles cutting up and down while dark stripes cut across.

“Zeb, you don’t have to–”

“I didn’t have to on Bahryn either.”

The name of the moon in that voice sends a shiver down Kallus’ spine, not to mention the smell of him… It’s so potent his mouth actually _waters_.

“I can smell the electrical burns on you,” Zeb insists, backing him up against a table.

There’s an urgency in those yellow-green eyes that drives a hot stake right through Kallus’ chest. So he acquiesces. He removes his gloves, unbuckles his belt and sits. Zeb helps him shrug free of the chest plate. He starts to pull off his shirt but it’s burnt to his skin on the side of his abdomen, courtesy of a deathtrooper’s electrostaff. An undignified yelp escapes him. He’s in too much pain to be embarrassed.

Besides, Zeb has now assumed the task of gingerly peeling the shirt from Kallus’ body himself. It seems fitting, really, Zeb stripping him of his imperial shell. As he does, the Lasat uncovers a vibrant patchwork of bruises against fair freckled skin, some already yellowing around the edges. He finds another electrostaff burn on Kallus’ back before freeing him of the shirt completely.

Kallus can practically feel Zeb’s eyes rake over his now bare, battered torso. He definitely hears Zeb’s breathing quicken. The Lasat clenches his hands into fists and bares his teeth in a snarl that knocks the wind right out of Kallus. The honesty of it, the vigor… Kallus has never been so attracted to anyone in his entire life.

Zeb takes a moment to calm himself then gets to work cleaning the burns. “This wouldn’t have happened if you came back with Ezra,” he grumbles.

“I had to stay,” Kallus croaks through the pain. “I thought I could keep Thrawn from finding you. I _wanted_ to keep him from finding you.”

“That the only reason?”

All of a sudden Kallus feels naked, and it has nothing to do with being shirtless. Zeb has a knack for seeing through him. So he gets right to the heart of it. “I couldn’t just leave. That would’ve been too easy. It was only right I rot as long as possible in the cesspit I cultivated for myself.”

Zeb lets out a bitter laugh. “And I suppose it was ‘only right’ you were tortured? You’re lucky you weren’t executed. Or would that have been ‘only right’ too?”

Kallus’ silence seems to be answer enough for the Lasat.

“If you wanted to be put to death so badly you shouldn’t have escaped,” Zeb gripes sharply, while at the same time applying bacta pads to the burns with the gentlest of touches. Despite the pain, this dichotomy isn’t lost on Kallus. When Zeb finishes he leans forward, hands flat on the table on either side of Kallus’s hips. He brings their faces within inches of each other. “But you did escape. Now you’re with us. You’ve got better things to do than punish yourself.”

Caught in a gaze so heartbreakingly earnest, trapped between arms so impossibly thick, Kallus feels safer than he ever has before. Not even a star destroyer could protect him from himself. For the first time in a long time he believes that maybe, just maybe, his life can have some value after all.

“I know,” Kallus murmurs.

Zeb sighs with his entire body. “For a while there I thought I’d never see you again,” he tells Kallus. Their foreheads are almost touching now and Kallus resists the urge to close the gap. He only narrows it a little.

“You wanted to see me again?” Kallus asks. He thinks he knows the answer, but still he needs to hear it.

“Yeah, so I could tell you how incredibly stupid it was going under cover like that.” 

A smirk pulls at the corner of Zeb’s mouth, and all Kallus wants to do is kiss those big purple lips. Run his tongue over them like he had on Bahryn, feel them on his face and neck. Nothing in the universe has ever charmed him more than this, Zeb’s cheeky banter in that rough voice. Kallus would’ve endured _years_ of being under cover just to feel this again.

“Probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” Kallus responds, albeit breathlessly. “And it’s entirely your fault.”

Zeb gives a deep, throaty chuckle. Kallus loves that sound. They’re so close, he can practically feel the vibrations of it on his skin, his lips.

“I’m not sorry for that,” the Lasat says. “In fact I’m proud of it. I’m proud of _you_. You did good, Kal–” But he suddenly stops himself and gives a shy smile. His ears even twitch a little. “Alexsandr.” 

“You can call me Alex,” Kallus tells him immediately. No one’s called him Alex in years.

“Alex,” Zeb says, grinning. “You did good. But I knew you could. I saw it in you.”

“You saw _me_ ,” Kallus tells him, and his voice catches a little in his throat. It’s a truth he’s known for months, but has never said aloud before. “Not just as an imperial but as a man, weak and hateful and flawed, deeply flawed, but not lost. A man who still had a choice.”

A large hand suddenly reaches for Kallus’ face. Instinctively he nuzzles into the warmth of Zeb’s palm, puts his own hand over Zeb’s to keep it there, flat against his cheek. It’s not the first time he’s felt Zeb’s hand on him. On Bahryn, the Lasat had yanked him from the pod, splinted his leg, hoisted him up, caught him midair, grasped his shoulder when they kissed… But this is new. Touching just to touch. It reminds him of the biggest risk he ever took – putting his hand on Zeb’s face, telling him he’s beautiful. Now, with Zeb’s hand on him like this, it’s as if he’s finally come full circle.

“You made your choice, huh?” Zeb asks softly, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“Yes,” Kallus breathes. He takes Zeb’s hand into both of his own and holds it in his lap, massaging the purple contours. “But I can’t pretend what I did for the rebellion I did just because it was right. I knew in my head it was the right thing to do,” he says, staring at Zeb’s hand trapped between his own. He can’t bring himself to look him in the eye. “But that’s not what really drove me. Everything I did…I did for you. To protect you, to get justice for you, to earn your trust. To try to make up for all the pain I caused you and your friends and your people.”

“And you feel bad about that?” Kallus hears Zeb say.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I feel like I should. It’s selfish at its core. If there was any chance I’d make it out, make it to the rebellion and…that you’d accept me, as a rebel, as the man who was with you on that moon, I needed to have done everything I possibly could to earn it or I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

Another big hand, the one that’s not trapped in his, tugs Kallus’ chin up. The Lasat’s eyes are so soft on him, Kallus feels himself melting inside. Like the icy clefts in his soul are being fused back together.

“There’s no such thing as a perfect rebel,” Zeb murmurs. Kallus thinks Zeb is pretty close to perfect. “It’s always going to be personal for us. Everyone here is fighting their own rebellion. So are you.”

“You’re my rebellion” Kallus tells him, unable to hold it back. “I chose you, Garazeb. I want to fight the empire with you.”

Zeb touches his forehead to Kallus’ and swallows hard. “Sure took you long enough to get here. Can I…kiss you now?”

That’s all Kallus needs to leave doubt behind and press his mouth to Zeb’s. Right away those big soft lips move eagerly against his own, and they move with the assuredness of someone who knows exactly what he wants. The knowledge that Zeb wants him enough to kiss him like this, slow and deep and tasting…it renders him completely at the Lasat’s mercy. He was at Zeb’s mercy before, on Bahryn and every day since, in his mind and in his soul. But now it’s his body’s turn to experience it, a body that has been particularly starved since his first taste of Zeb. For the past several months every ounce of willpower went toward ignoring his body, suppressing its wants, because he couldn’t bear to indulge it and then come to his senses only to remember he was still in the empire. His willpower wasn’t infinite though, and when he did have to indulge, he’d cry himself to sleep after.

But now, _now_ , every nerve in his body is alight with the Lasat’s every move, so much so that Kallus thinks there might be some larger force at work here. He didn’t know he was capable of _feeling_ so deeply. But perhaps this is what they call _being in love_. Perhaps this is what regular people feel every day for each other, and have been feeling since the beginning of the ages. Perhaps this is what brings down empires…or starts them. Ahsoka believed the very prospect of losing it had turned her old master into Darth Vader. Perhaps that is why it was forbidden for Jedi. All Kallus knows for sure is that if this were to be snatched from him now that he has it, he would either tear himself apart or bring his wrath down upon those responsible until they did it for him.

For the time being at least, he can revel in the ecstasy of it all, especially the feel of lips and tongue, and a little bit of teeth, against his own. He grabs hold of Zeb’s torso and pulls him closer, opening his legs for that warm body to nestle between his knees. One of Zeb’s hands rakes its way down to his thigh. It’s his right thigh – the leg he’d broken, the one Zeb had splinted. Zeb palms at it gently, as if he’s thinking of the same thing. Yes, for the time being, there’s nothing else in the galaxy but this, the two of them in close quarters.

They pull apart to catch their breath, panting in sync. Zeb is smiling at him, wide eyed. Kallus smiles back, caresses his face. “You didn’t ask permission to kiss me the first time,” Kallus reminds him.

“It’s been a while. Just trying to be polite,” Zeb responds, and his playful tone strikes a similarly playful chord inside Kallus that only Zeb has ever reached.

“You? Polite?” Kallus teases back whilst tugging at the thick purple hair along Zeb’s jaw. Doing so sends a thrill through his body. 

The Lasat retaliates by pulling Kallus into another kiss, more forceful this time. It’s exactly what Kallus wanted. “S’not my natural state but I can pull it off,” Zeb mutters against his mouth.

“Don’t deviate from your natural state on my account.” Kallus bites at Zeb’s bottom lip, runs his tongue over it. “I find your natural state unbearably charming.”

“You’ll have to bear it,” Zeb tells him. Then the Lasat looks away, not quite in shame but something close to it. “And you’ll have to bear my smell too.”

Kallus pulls Zeb’s chin gently back toward him so he can fix him with a serious look. “Zeb. You smell even better than I remember. Of course, that was a frigid ice moon and this a humid jungle planet. Much more conducive to scents.”

For several seconds Zeb just stares at him, perplexed. “Wait. You _like_ the way I smell?”

And now Kallus can’t help but smile. Zeb’s scent is unlike anything he’s ever smelled before. It’s probably something the Lasat has been self-conscious of ever since he lost his planet, his people. Kallus leans into the part of Zeb’s neck that isn’t covered by his armor and breathes him in, deeply. The feelings _safe warm home_ permeate his entire being, soothe him into something trance-like. There’s another feeling too, one that makes his mouth water again. It takes all his self-control not to let the tip of his tongue reach out to _taste_ that velvet fur. “Does that surprise you?” he asks.

“Not as much as it should.” One of Zeb’s hands reaches up to push him back. Kallus’ body goes tense. He’s about to apologize for being too presumptuous or whatever combination of wrong he’s done the Lasat this time but Zeb just undoes a few catches on his armor. He pulls it over his head and lets it clatter unceremoniously to the floor. 

The sound doesn’t register in Kallus’ mind though. It’s clouded by the vigorous scent rolling off the newly exposed fur in waves. Every inch of Kallus’ skin burns with the need to rub himself against it. And what a sight the rest of Zeb’s neck and shoulders are, so broad and chiseled, not to mention the outline of firm pectorals hiding beneath his uniform…

Kallus chances a look up and finds Zeb studying him closely. There’s no judgment in his eyes, only curiosity. And encouragement. So Kallus gives in to his desire and exhaustion and leans his weight against Zeb, relishing in the solid heat of the Lasat’s chest against his own. He presses his lips to the spot where Zeb’s neck meets his shoulder and inhales, lets the _safe warm home_ sensations swallow him whole. 

“When I breathe you in…it’s like when I hold the bo-rifle in battle,” Kallus tells him, voice muffled against fur. “Like you’re flowing through my body. I can feel you.”

Zeb’s whole body gives a shudder at Kallus’ words. “Karabast… If you weren’t hurt, I’d scold you good for saying such romantic things.”

That sends an answering shudder through Kallus’ body. “What would you do to me?”

Zeb _hmms_ mischievously at Kallus’ ear. “I’d shove you nice and tight up against that wall over there, hold this pretty jaw of yours in my hand and kiss you ‘til you couldn’t feel your face,” Zeb growls. He angles Kallus’ jaw up for a chaste kiss, like a promise for later. Kallus will most definitely hold Zeb to that promise. 

“You’ll just have to owe me one, then,” he says.

Zeb leans in closer, his cheek brushing ever so slightly against Kallus’. The Lasat’s breath tickles his neck and the thick, soft hair of his beard brushes over his shoulder. Then he feels Zeb turn his head so he can rub the side of his face against Kallus’ neck and jaw. 

Despite the pain in every other part of Kallus’ body, blood rushes violently toward his groin. Because Zeb is… Zeb is _marking_ him. Kallus feels honored, like he’s receiving a sacred gift. If _that_ isn’t a promise for later, he doesn’t know what is.

“You need your rest if we’re gonna get anywhere with that,” Zeb tells him.

The warmth disappears all at once when the Lasat pulls away to rummage through some compartments. Kallus watches him, paralyzed, until he returns with a clean shirt.

“Where is your bo-rifle anyway?” Zeb asks as he helps Kallus wriggle into the shirt.

“Hidden, on Lothal. I couldn’t risk them confiscating it.”

“We’ll go get it once you’re all healed up,” Zeb tells him. Kallus is dazzled by his matter-of-factness, as if it’ll be the simplest thing in the world to go back to imperial-occupied Lothal and retrieve it. With Zeb at his side, maybe it will be.

The Lasat holds out his hand. “Come on.”

Kallus finds he’s quite able to move again and takes Zeb’s hand, dragging himself off the table. When he leans his weight onto his right leg, it gives out. Zeb’s prepared for this though, and scoops Kallus into his arms. He holds him bridal style, like he had that split second on Bahryn. Only this time Zeb doesn’t throw him out a hole. 

Instead, he carries him gently into one of the ship’s small quarters. It’s Zeb’s room, by the smell of it, though there’s the underlying hint of teenage boy. He must share it with Ezra. 

Zeb sets Kallus down onto his bunk and right away Kallus feels like he’s drowning in the best way. Enveloped in a scent he can’t get enough of, he’s quickly lulled into a sleepy haze. Zeb is there, hovering over him, stroking his cheek.

“I’m so happy to see you, Zeb, to see that you’re safe,” Kallus says. He has to get it out before sleep pulls him under. “And I’m happy to be here, though I don’t think anyone else is pleased to see me.”

“Hera hasn’t killed you yet and command hasn’t locked you up, so I’d say you’re doing pretty good.”

“I am technically under armed guard.”

“Do I look armed to you?”

Kallus takes a few seconds to drink in the sight of Zeb’s upper body. It’s by far his favorite landscape. “Yes you do.”

Zeb fidgets a little. “That’s another one I owe you.”

“I’m keeping track.”

The Lasat grins and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’m happy to see you too, alive and almost well. Now sleep, so you can walk beside me in front of all those rebels. They won’t make it easy but you’re strong, and I’ll be right there with you.”

“Thank you, Garazeb. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, Alex. Goodnight.”


	9. Ready

Finally, _finally_ , Kallus is here.

A torrent of relief sweeps through Zeb as he watches the human’s chest move rhythmically up and down with sleep. Kallus is in his bunk, safe, on the ship he calls home. No one can touch him here. Not the empire, not even other rebels.

Zeb’s waited _months_ for this, months to know for sure that Kallus is his.

Now he knows. Now he can look him in those infuriatingly soft brown eyes and see that Kallus wants him, wants to be his. Zeb can hear it too, thanks to that unruly mouth on him. It never quits, not stranded on an ice moon or after a day of physical torture. Zeb doesn’t want that mouth to quit. He likes it, a lot, and likes sparring with it, vocally and otherwise.

And then there’s the fact that Kallus _likes the way he smells_. More than likes. Feels, as he feels the power of his bo-rifle. Zeb finds that particularly interesting, because that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be when you’ve found your mate. Your Lasat mate. Kallus is no Lasat, and yet, Zeb can feel his smell too, muted as it is without fur. He’d felt it on Bahryn, before he’d even opened his eyes to the reverent stare. He’d wanted to bathe in that smell, one of raw emotion scalding away the stench of imperial soap and repression. 

That had been on a frigid ice moon though, and this, a humid jungle planet, is much more conducive to scents indeed. It’s not exactly helping Zeb control himself. He hadn’t meant to go and mark Kallus like that. But with the last traces of the empire evaporating from his skin, Zeb felt a burning need to seal himself onto the man that remains, a man all at once fragile and formidable. It had been a move more intimate than their kisses, and anyone with a nose up to snuff will be able to smell Zeb on him for hours to come. Zeb wonders if Kallus knows that. 

He hopes he does. 

Zeb hopes for a lot of things as he gazes at that face, a face that had once filled him with such rage. Now he wants nothing more than to kiss its sharp, freckled contours and rampant muttonchops. And he’s going to if he doesn’t make himself scarce. So he leaves Kallus to sleep and heads back into the main hub of the _Ghost._

Their gear and the medkit are still strewn about, but he’s too keyed up to bother with it. His whole body buzzes with anticipation. A new chapter of his life is beginning and Karabast, is he ready for it. For the good and the bad. He’s ready to face the confusion and contempt that others will undoubtedly have. He’s ready to tell them he’s not kriffing sorry for the way he feels about a man who’d once violently pursued him. And he’s ready to tell them why – because _he_ made Kallus a rebel, just by being his raw rebel Lasat self. 

And because of that, Zeb feels more like a rebel than ever.

It’s been one hell of a day though, physically and emotionally, and that wooden chair in the corner is looking especially comfortable. Zeb collapses into it. The moment he does, sleep overcomes him.


End file.
